The Incident
by r4ven3
Summary: This one shot is set during S5, where Cotterdam doesn't, and never will exist. I like to think of this story as being a story about Jo, and all the other characters involved are just along for the ride. Rated T for some colourful language.


**A/N: I trust I don't have to remind readers that this is fanfic, and so the likelihood of some of the events occurring as written is slim, and that the car trip to Adamson School is a plot device, as well as an excuse to focus on the Ros-Jo relationship.**

* * *

The Grid meeting room – early August 2006:

"They're _children,_" Harry says in disgust. "You can't accuse English children of terrorism."

"The oldest is 17."

"And the youngest is 13. And the age of majority in this country is 18, is it not?"

"Yes, Harry," Zaf says, dispirited, shoulders slumped, the fire in his belly stamped out.

Ruth considers making mention of Noah Gleeson, the schoolboy computer hacker from 2003, but her better judgement decides she should keep that thought to herself. Harry is not in the best of moods, and only the two of them know why that is.

"So what should we do?" asks Jo.

"Do what you think's best," Harry says gruffly, standing and gathering his folder of paperwork before marching from the meeting room, leaving his team staring at the door as it closes behind him.

"What's eating him?" Zaf asks, and Ruth notices how the gazes of everyone in the room slide past her, although from across the table she can sense Jo's eyes on her. Perhaps Jo is waiting for an explanation for Harry's odd mood. If so, she's not about to provide one. Some things are just too personal, too painful.

As the remainder of the team begins talking at once, Ruth drops her eyes to the empty writing pad on the table in front of her, affording her the freedom to tune out. She creates circular doodles with her pen as her mind wanders through the events of the past few weeks. While she knows it is unlike Harry to allow his personal life to bleed into his working life, she also acknowledges that his increasingly surly demeanour had been seeded in her decision to deny them further intimate dinners together, and while she is annoyed with him, she is also more than a little sad.

"What are your thoughts, Ruth?" Ros's voice cuts into her reverie, so that she looks up to discover all eyes trained on her.

"About what?" Ruth replies, hoping that Ros Myers hasn't yet developed the ability to read minds.

Ros sighs. "We've agreed that we should investigate the goings-on at this school, and the best place to begin is at the school itself. It's only a little over an hour and a half's drive."

"You plan to _drive_ to Adamson School?"

"In the absence of an available helicopter, yes."

"Then you need to begin by interviewing the chemistry teacher," Ruth says, not having fully absorbed Ros's comment about the helicopter, "but I'll be chained to my desk for the duration. I have a threat assessment to write."

"I was hoping you'd come along," Ros adds, closely watching Ruth, who knows that look. It says: _You have no choice_.

Ruth suspects there's something going on, but she has no idea what, and she cares even less. While it's a lovely August day, a drive to this public school for boys is out of the question. She turns to look Ros in the eye, something she finds difficult at the best of times. "As I've already said, you need to check the chemistry teacher. Prior to the meeting I took the liberty of accessing the school staff list. The teacher's name is Dane Yardley, and I can't accompany you because I know him."

"Then knowing him should present an advantage," Jo chips in.

Ruth stands, shuffling her papers in an unnecessary demonstration of busyness. She carefully pushes her chair towards the table before glancing at Jo, then Zaf, and lastly Ros. "I dated him for a while, not long before I began working here. I don't wish to see him again. He was .. difficult to get rid of. In the end I had to change my phone number."

"Maybe seeing you will catch him off guard," Ros says curtly.

"I have a threat assessment to write." Ruth quickly heads towards the door, but with her hand on the door handle, she turns once more. "I just can't see him again .. ever," she says before she leaves the room, three pairs of eyes waiting for her to return, for her to announce she's changed her mind, and maybe after all she might like a drive to the country.

Once the door closes behind Ruth, Ros glances across the table to where Jo sits, a frown on her face. "I guess it's just you and me, Jo. Girls' day out. I vote you and I scare the pants off these people."

Jo nods and smiles at Ros. She can think of nothing she'd rather do … _not!_

* * *

Outside the confines of the car the day appears idyllic; blue sky, with only a few white clouds on the horizon. Jo imagines more days like this, days when she'll not be confined to Thames House, or the interior of a car with Ros Myers.

"I'd love to be lying on the grass in a park, a book in my hands, a lovely feller lying beside me," Jo muses dreamily, as they quickly leave central London behind them.

"_Beside_ you?" Ros replies, and Jo quickly turns to glare at the driver. Trust Ros to scribble all over her beautiful picture with bold black crayon. Without her dreams for herself Jo has only her job, a job which while exciting and challenging can be just a little too dangerous for comfort. "What did Ruth tell you about this chemistry teacher?" Ros adds, knowing that just before leaving the Grid Jo had quickly consulted Ruth in private.

"Not much. I could tell she didn't want to talk about him." Jo turns to look at Ros, whose attention is firmly on the motorway. "Just that he was brilliant, and he'd had his dream job taken from him when the research project he'd joined had it's funding pulled. He became a teacher because he didn't know what else to do."

"That doesn't tell us much," Ros muses, and Jo silently agrees.

"Maybe there's not much to tell," Jo ventures, after a long silence, "other than him being a stalker, of course."

"Of course."

Their conversation remains sporadic, offering Jo time and space to continue playing with her idea of the perfect life, until Ros turns the car through a set of large iron gates. They crawl along a long drive until between the trees they have their first glimpse of Adamson School.

"Holy shit," breathes Jo.

"Welcome to how the other half lives," says Ros, as she pulls the car into the visitors' carpark.

* * *

Despite the seriousness of `the incident' the school's principal is welcoming, although wary. "None of those involved are on campus," he says bluntly. "Mr Yardley is most likely at home, having been suspended until the school board has made a firm decision regarding his future. While his knowledge of his chosen subject is considerable, his recent behaviour is worrying. The five boys involved have all been suspended for two weeks." Gerard Standish's eyes wander to the window behind Ros and Jo, before returning to them. "I can give you Mr Yardley's address. He's keen to plead his case. Whether you believe him or not is immaterial to me."

And with that, they leave the school grounds, and drive to the small village where Dane Yardley lives.

* * *

Once Zaf leaves with one of the junior officers, Ruth has the Grid to herself. Malcolm is away on a two day conference, while Adam is somewhere in the field. Harry is not in his office. She enjoys the times when the vast space of the Grid hums along on its own, with few human voices to disturb it. At the back of the room only a handful of admin staff work quietly, and in the technical suite Malcolm's small tribe of assistants sits hunched over their monitors. Since his dramatic exit from the meeting room, she has not set eyes on Harry, so without anyone to interrupt or distract her Ruth is hopeful she can finish the threat assessment by mid afternoon. She has no regrets about missing out on the drive to Adamson School.

An hour later Ruth is so involved in her task that she doesn't look up when the pods open and then close, so she doesn't see Harry return to the Grid. Nor does she notice how he watches her, perhaps hoping she'll look up, before entering his office and turning on the light over his desk.

* * *

Dane Yardley is a surprise to both women. The term `chemistry teacher' evokes images of bookishness, spectacles, and a distracted air. Dressed in surf shorts, a brightly coloured shirt, and sporting bare feet, Yardley is none of these. Beside her shoulder Ros can detect Jo's interest in this man. She fights the urge to turn to her younger colleague and shake her finger in warning, but waves her ID in Yardley's general direction before taking a step forward.

Ros Myers is not the kind of woman to whom anyone says no, so Dane Yardley, hair tousled, brown eyes wary, steps back to allow the women entry into his small flat. "Tea? Coffee?" he asks, tipping his head towards his tiny kitchen. When both women shake their heads, he shows them to two chairs at the table tucked into a corner of his living room. "It's not a palace, but I don't spend a lot of time here .. other than when I'm suspended."

Ros doesn't waste time on the niceties. "We need to ask for your version of what led to the event which resulted in your suspension from duties."

"Why would something like that be of interest to you?" Yardley asks, genuinely bewildered.

"Everything is of interest to us," Ros answers bluntly. "Just the details, please. We don't require embellishments."

So Dane Yardley, pushing his fingers nervously through his thick head of brown hair, recounts the Saturday morning four weeks earlier when he had held a private class for several of the most promising chemistry students. "The class was by invitation only. There were ten who became regular weekly participants, although only five of them were involved in … the incident. Mostly we'd discuss the practical applications of chemistry – food and nutrition, medicines, drugs, wine-making, and such. Although I mentioned in passing the role of chemistry in explosives, at no time did I suggest they make an explosive device, although ..."

"Although what?" Jo asks gently.

For a moment Yardley hesitates before continuing. "What I am guilty of is of mentioning – not altogether seriously – that there are websites which cover that kind of thing."

"By `that kind of thing' you mean building a device which could cause harm to people or property," Jo states.

"Yeah. All the boys in my Saturday class are rather bright. All have aspirations for their lives. I hadn't expected any of them to pursue this." Yardley focuses on his fingers, which Jo notices are white from him grasping them too tightly. "You might like to speak to Elliot Goss." Again he gives the two women eye contact, a smile softening his face. "He lives nearby, and he'll be home. He's the smartest of the whole bunch, so I've assumed that he's the brains behind the incident."

* * *

Dane Yardley had told them that Elliot Goss, aged thirteen, is a scholarship student who lives with his widowed mother in the next village. "It's unlikely she'll be home," Yardley had added. "She's a research scientist at Pharoah."

"Pharoah?" Ros had asked.

"It's a laboratory specialising in medical research. They're working on some new kind of antidepressant. As if we need another one," he'd added, almost to himself.

The front door is opened by a rather short, skinny boy with wavy dark hair. Jo immediately notices his most striking feature – intelligent blue eyes, which scan her whole body before glancing at Ros dismissively. "And you are?" he says at last, in a voice which is surprisingly deep, given his slight stature.

Jo's first instinct is to slap the little fucker, before ordering him to stand up straight and show some respect, so she steps aside, allowing Ros to do the introductions.

"My mother's not home," he says at last, moving as if to close the door.

"We don't require your mother's permission to speak with you. We're not the police, and we're not about to handcuff you and throw you in a dungeon," Ros says, taking a step closer to the boy.

"Pity," he replies. "I'm bored to the point of self-harm," he adds, opening the door wider to let them both into the front hallway. "The kitchen's down the end of the hall and to the right."

* * *

By the time Ruth finishes writing the week's threat assessment it is approaching three-thirty. She sits back in her chair and stretches her shoulders until her shoulder blades almost meet. She could do with a coffee, but perhaps her document needs to be in Harry's hands. She sets it to print before glancing up at the window to Harry's office. The moment her eyes connect with his, he drops his head, breaking eye contact. This small gesture saddens Ruth. _She_ has done this. Her actions have broken the delicate bond she and Harry had been building over the past year or more.

Perhaps she'll wait a while before delivering the document to him personally. Ruth decides they are overdue for a talk.

* * *

Elliot Goss had made mugs of coffee for the three of them - instant, but quite drinkable. Jo leaves the talking to Ros while she closely watches the boy, checking for microexpressions.

Ros begins her interrogation with a friendly question. "What are you planning to do when you leave school … after university?"

Elliot's expression barely changes. He holds Ros's eyes for longer than necessary before sipping his coffee, then carefully placing his mug on the table. "I have several options, all of which I'd quite like to pursue."

Jo has also noticed that Elliot's speech patterns are not those of your average thirteen-year-old. Either he's very bright, perhaps spends a lot of time with adults, or he's pulling their chain; she suspects all three.

"My late father was a captain in the British army. His area of expertise was explosives – both the setting and the defusing of them. I am also interested in my mother's work as a research biochemist. Perhaps that is an area which suits me best."

"Or perhaps you visited that website to make your own explosive device, to emulate your father," Jo chips in, feeling irritated with the little shit, whom she is sure is leading them down a shady path of his own design.

Elliot turns to her and grins. "And here was I thinking you're the good cop, and Miss Misery Guts here," he adds, turning towards Ros, "is the bad cop."

"Why did you do it?" Ros asks, her voice turning nasty. "It wasn't just the resultant explosion, but six chickens and a dog were killed, and the hen house destroyed. How the five of you weren't injured is beyond me."

"The dog was old, and Mr Rowe -"

"The groundsman?"

"Yeah. It was his dog. I'd overheard him telling Kai that the dog needed to be put to sleep."

"And Kai is -"

"Kai Peng," Elliot said. "He was one of the kids who decided that we needed to make this device. It was his idea .. his and Ben Chatterjee's. And Tom Lindsay."

"That's four of you," Ros points out. "Who's the fifth?"

"Laurence Packer. He's a follower. He likes to be included, but he's not an initiator."

"And you are," suggests Ros.

"Sure. Why not? If no-one had ever initiated anything, then we'd all still be traveling along the Roman roads by horse and cart."

"So tell me this," Jo begins, leaning forward to gain Elliot's attention, "did Mr Yardley give you the name of the website, or did you do a search, and pick one yourself?"

"Are you married?" Elliot asks, grinning slyly. "Boyfriend? Partner? Girlfriend maybe?" He leans forward, mirroring Jo's movement.

_Cheeky little __fucker_, she thinks, sitting back in her chair.

"Answer her," Ros says, her voice like ice.

"Why? I imagine Yardley said he told us there were instructions on the internet somewhere, and I'm telling you he gave us a web address. It hardly matters. The end result is the same. It could have been one of us who died, or Mr Rowe, or his wife. What difference does it make? I'll stick to my story, and Mr Yardley will stick to his."

"And the other four boys?" Ros asks, already bored with the subject.

"They'll back me, of course. What else would you expect?"

"How do you earn their loyalty?" Jo asks, genuinely interested.

"With my own unique brand of loyalty towards them. I believe it's called _quid pro quo_."

"I believe you're right," Ros replies, admitting to herself that they can get no further with this boy, not without breaking his legs, and even then there's no guarantee he'll talk. She quickly stands, and Jo follows. "Thank you for your cooperation," she says to Elliot, who is still sitting. "We'll see ourselves out."

And they do. Elliot Goss remains in the kitchen while Ros and Jo leave. Jo pulls the front door closed behind her, the lock clicking loudly in the warm afternoon air.

"What's next?" Jo asks, once they're sitting in the car.

"I need to call Harry, but first we need to find somewhere which sells proper coffee."

* * *

Ruth has waited over an hour for Harry to return to his office. Just as she'd decided to deliver the threat assessment he had suddenly left, and he hasn't returned. So she delivers her document to his office, noticing as she lays the folder beside his mouse pad that he'd left his phone on his desk. That can only mean one thing.

Whatever girding ones loins actually means, Ruth does some conscious loin-girding, at last determined to address that which has come between them. She finds him on the roof balcony, and as she pushes open the door, she silently thanks Zaf for having once mentioned to her that whenever Harry needs to think he heads to the roof.

As she approaches Harry turns and nods in her general direction, before turning back to survey the tall buildings across the street. "I hope you haven't come all this way to give me a lecture," he says at last, once she's standing beside him, although at a distance, her hands grasping the balustrade.

"On the contrary," she says quietly, "I'm here to offer you an apology." When Harry says nothing, she continues, because were she to stop speaking, she'd surely lose her nerve to continue. "I know that turning down your .. offer was a cruel and poorly-thought-through act." Again Harry appears to not have heard her. "I know it was difficult for you to take a risk with me the first time, but -"

"Ruth," he says quietly, "it's alright."

"No. It's not alright, and nothing between us has been right since that day I said no to another dinner. I now deeply regret that decision."

Harry nods, before turning to look at her, his eyes like lasers, drilling beneath her skin. "So, what does this actually mean … in real terms?"

"Perhaps another dinner is a bit much for now, so maybe a coffee after work might be better." There. She'd said it. She'd given her apology – long overdue – followed by her proposed solution.

He is still watching her, so she drops her eyes. "That's … quite a long way from the dinner we shared, Ruth." She can detect lightness in his voice, so she knows her words, her meaning has been understood by him.

"I find grand gestures to be overwhelming," she says by way of an explanation. "I couldn't have accepted another expensive dinner with you, especially when the others knew about it."

Harry nods, turning his attention back to the buildings opposite. "I have found these past few weeks quite trying," he says quietly, "especially after our one dinner seemed to go rather well."

"It did. I enjoyed it, but for the time being I'd rather we take things slowly, and without fanfare. I'm not used to … _this_."

"This? Define `this'."

"I'm not used to be treated well by men," Ruth begins. "Today Ros almost ordered me to accompany her and Jo to that posh school where those boys built a bomb." Harry is about to speak, so she lifts her hand to stop him. "The chemistry teacher, the one who taught the boys .. I knew him, having dated him for a few months just before I began working here. He was one of the reasons I accepted this job. He had become controlling and .. unpredictable. When I eventually broke up with him, he'd visit my work, ring me many times during the day, and generally make my life hell. What I'm saying is that my previous relationships with men have been somewhat … problematic, but Dane Yardley was the worst of all. I decided then that I shouldn't get involved with anyone, just in case they ended up being difficult .. like him. Besides," she continues, almost as an afterthought, "I only ever liked Dane for his name … and his hair."

"His _hair_? You've drawn the short straw with me, then."

"There's so much more to you than your hair," Ruth observes quietly.

She turns towards Harry to find him facing her, his hands stuffed into his pockets. She is sure he has moved closer to her. "I can guarantee I'm nothing at all like this chemistry teacher, Ruth."

She experiences an excruciating moment of embarrassment for having shared with him an unpleasant story about her past, but that discomfort soon leaves her.

"I know you're not like him," she says at last, "which is why I suggested that we … well, begin again, but gently."

"No grand gestures," Harry suggests. "No fancy restaurants." Ruth nods, smiling into his eyes. "How about we begin after work today? We can walk to that American diner near the park. It's bound to be a fine evening, so a walk -"

"- will do us both good," she finishes for him.

What Ruth does next is as risky as had been her apology and her suggestion they start again. Harry has removed his hands from his pockets, his fingers fluttering nervously by his sides, like he is not quite sure what to do with them. She reaches out with one hand and grasps the fingers of his left hand, stilling their movement. His hand is warm, so Ruth allows him to turn his fingers so he is the one doing the grasping. Then they smile at one another, holding the other's gaze.

"I really should head back to my office," he says at last. "I have so much to be doing, and I need to ring Ros."

Withdrawing her hand, Ruth nods. She is fine with that.

* * *

"So … what did he say?" Jo asks, once Ros returns to her seat at their table in the small village cafe where they had had coffee and a late – very late - lunch.

"Not much. But he sounded chipper."

"Chipper? Harry's almost never chipper, especially since he took Ruth to dinner that time."

Ros frowns, sliding her phone into her jacket pocket. "How did you know about that?"

"The same way you did, I imagine. Malcolm. He felt so guilty that he told everyone, instructing us all to take no notice of Ruth and Harry, which to those of us working on the Grid is like red rag to a bull. We all watched them like hawks, so small wonder Ruth bolted."

"Anyway, he's happy for us to flag the whole six people involved in the incident, while listing both Yardley and Elliot Goss as priority."

"Good," Jo replies, clearly satisfied with the day's work. "I hope Elliot Goss gets his comeuppance; he's a snotty little shit."

"I concur," Ros says smoothly, downing the last of her coffee.

Suddenly Jo stands, having pushed away the remains of her custard tart. "I'm in need of a smoke, so I'll meet you outside."

Ros watches her leave the cafe before ordering another coffee.

* * *

Central London – early evening:

The driver of the white Lexus which cruises by at that moment is watching the road ahead, and so doesn't see the middle-aged man and his female companion leaving the American diner, although her passenger does.

"Isn't that ...?" Jo says, gawking through the window on her side. It is almost seven-thirty, with still over an hour until sunset.

"Isn't it what?" Ros asks, not terribly interested. Jo probably thinks she's seen some footballer, or a TV soap star, or – God forbid – a member of a boy band.

"Nothing," Jo says quickly, deciding against sharing with Ros what she'd seen. Ros hasn't a romantic bone in her body, and so wouldn't understand. Nor can she tell Zaf, who is a terrible gossip, as well as a tease. She'll keep it to herself. She'd seen Harry holding Ruth's hand, and had caught them gazing at one another, just before they had begun walking towards Thames House.

That look. That is what Jo is looking for from a potential love interest. Many men, including Zaf, have looked at her with interest, but their interest has been fueled by lust, and nothing more. At the grand old age of (almost) twenty-seven Jo at last knows what is missing from her life. She had once believed her career in journalism would make her happy, and then the promise of excitement and secrecy working with Mi5 would lift her spirits and her self esteem. For a time it had, but there is still that undefined `something' missing from her life, and now she knows what that `something' is. She'd seen it on Harry's face as he'd looked into Ruth's eyes only moments earlier. To call it love or adoration or regard is to diminish its impact. That look she'd seen on Harry's face suggests he would be prepared to do great things, even foolish things because of Ruth. Jo longs to meet someone capable of behaving foolishly because of her.

"You all right?" Ros asks, quickly glancing across the car's interior.

"Never better," Jo replies, as she leans back in her seat, feeling the surge of power beneath her as the car accelerates.


End file.
